


Daredevil: The Death of Matthew Murdock

by MisterMage



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Comic), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, Anxiety, BAMF Matt Murdock, Catholic Guilt, Character Study, Crying, Dark, Deconstruction, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Flashback to the death of Karen Page, Flashbacks, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt Murdock, It Gets Worse, Matt goes on a downward spiral, Matt has been Daredevil for thirty years, Matt is brought to new lows, Matt is married and has a family, Paranoia, Things get very dark, Tragedy, Trauma, tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterMage/pseuds/MisterMage
Summary: When Matthew Murdock was a kid, he lost his sight in an accident involving radioactive chemicals. Though he could no longer see, the chemicals heightened Murdock’s other senses and imbued him with an amazing 360 degree Radar Sense. Now, Matt uses his abilities to fight for his city as......Daredevil!For nearly thirty years, Matthew Murdock has protected his city as the red-clad vigilante known as Daredevil, and in that time, he’s lost many friends and loved ones. Now married to the love of his life, Grace, and with a beautiful five year old boy, Jack Jr., Matt is afraid of losing them like he’s lost so many other people. Little does he know, his worst fear is about to come true...
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Brave New World

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Hell’s Kitchen, New York City - Present Day

Gatherings of people, no matter how large or small, were torture to someone like Matthew Murdock. Every Sunday, the Murdock family would wake up early, freshen up as quick as they could, then hurry to eight-o-clock mass at the church some blocks away. The mass was usually patronized by kind, older folk— the kind that loved to pinch the cheeks of Matt’s son, Jack Murdock Jr., and rave about how cute the red-haired lad was. However, Matthew's enhanced senses meant just processing all the different smells that came from these elders threatened to completely overwhelm him, revert him to that huddled mess suffering the agony of rough bedsheets he'd first become decades ago. Since then, however, he’d learned to control each of his senses, opening up a brave new world. 

And it was because of that brave new world that Matt could practically feel the church mice crawling against his skin, taste the perfume of every woman that felt the need to douse themselves in it, and smell last night’s dinner on his son’s tongue— lasagna, and not to mention some chocolate it seems he had snuck. It seemed the boy had once again failed to adequately brush his teeth, and gotten into the candy stash, despite Matt constantly moving it higher and higher. Matt made a note to move the candy further out of reach… again. 

Since he was old enough to crawl, Jack had been on the move, constantly getting into every cabinet— despite the baby locks, and tearing their contents to shreds, tossing anything he could wrap his little baby hands around across the floor. Grace Murdock, Matt’s wife of six years, had routinely complained about the little squirt, and insisted that they try to make the locks, well… work. After many, many different kinds and brands of baby lock, the husband and wife duo were eventually forced to just tie everything together with string, something that Jack didn’t have the dexterity to undo until he was old enough for it to not matter.

“Go in peace,” Father Lamton boomed.

Without missing a beat, Jack jumped up from the church pue, the vigor of youth not yet lost on him, and tried to hurry out into the aisle, only to be stopped when Matt blocked him with his arm. “Wait ‘till the priest leaves.”

“Why?” Jack asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“Because,” Grace chimed, “it’s polite.”

With a huff, Jack sat back down.

When people get older, as Father Lamton was, they tend to slow down, both mentally and physically. While he was still as sharp as he ever was, the priest’s body had long since begun to betray him, and that was painfully apart as Matt listened to the grind of bone against bone screech in his ears, the sound churning his stomach with every step that Father Lamton took. The poor man’s arthritis was getting worse, and with the price of his medication, he could not afford the drugs needed to alleviate the pain. 

“Honey,” Matt turned to Grace, “how much money do you have in your purse?”

Matt heard her rummaging around in it. 

“About twenty dollars.”

“Spare a five?”

“Let me guess, Father Lamton’s arthritis?” She handed five dollars to Matt, who placed them in his pocket and cracked a smile.

“How did you know?”

“Poor man looks like he’s in pain.”

“He sounds like he’s in pain as well.”

That was an understatement for someone like Matt. As Father Lamton slowly ground his way past Matt, his every breath tinged with pain, it took everything Matt had not to vomit right then and there. The… uncomfortableness of it was a factor, yes, but at the end of the day, Matt could not bear to hear the people he cared about in pain.  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Hell’s Kitchen, New York City - 20 Years Ago

He could hear it before he even burst through the oaken church doors: the unmistakable sounds of people in pain. And not just any kind of pain, no, the kind that left you rolling on the floor, clutching whatever wound you may have sustained and hoping, wishing for death to come and take you into its cold embrace. As Daredevil slammed the doors open, his worst fears were confirmed when the pungent stench of silenced terror and death met his nostrils, forcing him to choke back the bile that was rising in his throat. It was in moments like this when he was glad he could not see.

“Uhn…” the voice was faint, but Daredevil would have recognized it anywhere. “D… Dare… Devil…” It was his mother.

“Maggie!” he cried, bounding across the aisle, careful as to not step on any of the bodies that littered the place. “Don’t move.”

“He… killed Sister Theresa first… with her own rosary beads… He said… he said he’d kill us… one by one… if we don’t give him the baby… but I… hid her…” 

Daredevil picked up his mother’s head, extending his senses as to grasp the full extent of her injuries. The smell of blood leaked from her head… just a few cuts, nothing too severe. The sound of broken bone poking into flesh… painful, but she’d live. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen breathed a sigh of relief. His mother had gotten off easy compared to her fellow nuns.

“The things he did… to Sister Anne…” she moaned.

“I have to know when he left, Maggie. When did he leave?” There was a note of desperation in his voice.

“When a boy meets a body, coming through the rye…” a voice echoed.

Daredevil’s heart skipped a beat. ‘He didn’t.’

“Wry— ain’t it, red?”

Daredevil jutted up from his crouched position.

“If you’re the literary type, you’ll be able to call this one, devil.”

He couldn’t get a bead on him. The acoustics in the old church were messing with his Radar Sense, throwing echoes back at the Man Without Fear.

“No? C’mon— it’s too easy.”

Daredevil continued to look around.

“You’re the catcher. Get it? You’re the catcher in the wry. But you know what every good catcher needs?”

He heard them slice through the air before his opponent even finished his sentence, four razor-sharp shurikens. 

Finally, he had found Bullseye.

Without a moment's hesitation, Daredevil hurled his body into the air, twirling with the skill and grace of a world-class acrobat all while blocking the projectile that was headed towards his jugular; the other three were merely distractions. At the end of his maneuver, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen launched one of his escrima sticks towards where the head of Bullseye was, a satisfying crack echoing throughout the church hall as it knocked two teeth clean from the man’s skull. With a small fap, the escrima stick returned to Daredevil’s hand.

“Same ol’ red.” Bullseye began, “That’s why I came prepared this time.”

Daredevil assumed a fighting stance, readying himself for whatever was to come.

“I’m tired of this vendetta between you and me — it’s a waste of my time. You’re the only guy who’s ever come close to getting on my nerves. Hate admitting it, but you’re almost my better. So, in order to afford myself half a shot…”

Click.

“...I’m gonna have to subvert my principles a bit.”

Ka-Blamm.

Idiot. He hadn’t even considered that Bullseye would pull a gun on him, and now, he was paying the price. As the bullet ripped through his shoulder, leaving the sound of spurting blood in its wake, Daredevil let out a howl that could easily be mistaken as belonging to an animal. He gritted his teeth though, biting back the pain. ‘Drown it out, Murdock. Have to keep Bullseye at bay.’

Not a moment after, Bullseye leapt at Daredevil, who while clutching his bleeding wound with one hand, delivered a stern punch across his opponent’s jaw with the other, knocking him squarely to the ground. While he may have been down, Bullseye certainly was not out, and he proved just how still in the fight he was when he rocketed towards the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen with a speed unbefitting of any mortal man and tackled Daredevil to the ground, a powerful blow that cracked his opponent’s ribs following soon after.

“You wanna walk away from this? You’ll gimme the kid. I ain’t getting paid to kill you, but I’m gonna do you just for free. Just for laughs.”

Daredevil spit out the blood pooling in his mouth onto Bullseye’s face. “Go to hell.”

“I already wrote that ticket with all those dead nuns,” Bulleseye laughed. “Now, gimme the kid!” he said as he picked Daredevil up and slammed him against the ground, repeating the act a few more times before pausing for an answer.

“Let him go!” a voice shouted from some yards away. “Let him go, and I’ll give you the baby.”

“Well, well, well…” Bullseye stood up from where he was. “Big hand for the little lady.”

“Karen… no!” Daredevil moaned as he dragged his broken and battered body upright, only to be knocked across the face with one of his own sticks by Bullseye.

“Pipe down, punchy! We’re in the middle of negotiations!”

Their voices drowned into murmurs as once more, Daredevil picked himself up, knees wobbling and head spinning as he staggered to his feet. Karen Page, the love of his life, was about to give up a baby to… to a mass murderer. A hired killer who was after a baby! A baby for christ’s sake! And just to protect him, nonetheless. 

As Daredevil limped towards Bullseye in some desperate attempt to stop… something, his foot knocked against the gun he had just been shot with mere moments ago. 

‘I’m weakening,’ thought the Devil, ‘I’m not going to beat him… unless… unless maybe I have to subvert my principles as well.’ He reached down for where the gun was, feeling around until he felt the icy steel press against his hand. Hand wobbling from both fatigue, vertigo, and blood loss, he aimed the gun where Bullseye’s voice was coming from, finger dancing over the trigger, like he was hesitant to pull it. But why would he be? After all, he knew that he couldn’t beat Bullseye, at least not in his current state, and that meant that, at some point, he would get the baby and complete his… mission. An innocent baby would die because of his inaction. And just to add fuel to the fire, Bullseye had killed Elektra, one of Daredevil’s former lovers. So, why was the Man Without Fear seemingly so afraid to do what, in his heart of hearts, he knew needed to be done? ‘No, I can’t. I won’t! He’s the one who compromises, not me! Because I’m nothing like him! I can’t be like him… I’m not a killer.’

With a flick of the wrist, Daredevil launched the gun at the back of Bullseye’s head, distracting the villain and allowing the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to tackle his adversary to the ground without any struggle. 

“Karen! Run!” Daredevil shouted, trying not to let any note of desperation creep into his voice. He needed to sound strong, like everything was under control. But it seemed that, given the distinct lack of the sound of echoing footsteps and the sound of her heart pounding as loud of a concert, that Karen had frozen in fear. ‘Damn it,’ Daredevil thought, ‘I’ll just have to get her out of here myself.’

Now with a new goal in mind, Daredevil quickly maneuvered himself into a favorable position: his arm wrapped around Bullseye’s neck, holding the villain’s head still so he could beat it with his fist, hopefully dazing his adeversary long enough for him to get Karen and the baby out of there. Once. Twice. Three times the Devil channeled all his remaining strength into his blows, quickly getting up once he decided that his opponent should be off-balance enough and making his way to the sound of Karen’s frantically beating heart, clutching his still bleeding shoulder while doing so.

“Let’s go… this way,” he said as he wrapped his other arm around his love’s back, guiding her towards where they needed to go, lest things get any worse than they already had.

As they inched closer and closer towards the large oaken door that would be their salvation, Daredevil paid close attention to his dazed adversary, watching for the slightest indication of danger. And it was because of his vigilance that he heard when Bullseye dragged himself to his feet and picked up… no… damn it! The loaded gun he had thrown at him. 

“Karen…!” he shouted.

“First rule in the ‘cleaning’ business,” Bullseye began.

“...get down!” Daredevil ducked and yanked on Karen to bring her down with him.

A small laugh escaped Bullseye’s lips as he finished, “never discard a loaded weapon.”

Bang.

The shot blistered in Daredevil’s ears for just long enough that he didn’t have to hear the bullet rip through Karen’s heart. Have to hear that initial gasp as the love of his life felt an unknowable, inconceivable pain envelop her body. But he was well aware of everything that came after.

“I can’t believe it. I missed.” said Bullseye, his voice drenched in disappointment as he walked away.

Daredevil could hear the blood force itself out of her chest. Hear her struggle to grasp at every new breath as the blood pooled in her lungs. Hear her every action become more and more tinged with pain until finally, everything was drenched it in. He couldn’t bear to hear the ones he cared about it pain. 

“Oh my God, Karen!” he cried, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes and strangling the air from his lungs. “Please God, no!” He scooped her up and head her gently in his arms.

“Matt…” she whimpered.

“No, baby… don’t try to talk, just… I’ll get--”

“I… love…”

He tries not to hear her. Hearing her means knowing.

“No, no, no, god damn it! Karen, don’t go! Stay with me god damn it!”

“I’ll… I’ll miss you.”

And with that…

She’s gone.  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Hell’s Kitchen, New York City - Present Day

A cold breeze swept against the exposed skin of Matt’s neck, snapping him out of his trance and back into the world of the living. After twenty years, it still stung to return here. He shook his head, casting away the thoughts, after all, it seemed that Father Lamton had finally reached the door, and this theory was confirmed when the din of footstops met his ears. People filed out of the church in a somewhat orderly manner, the occasional jostle or yelp ringing out. Matt and his family, however, stayed.

“I assume you’ve stayed for confession, Matthew?” Father Lamton’s voice echoed.

“You would be correct, father.” Matt stood up and turned towards the sound of the priest’s voice. 

“You know the way.”

As Matt strode towards the confessional, the ever-so-familiar must began to nip more and more at his nostrils, soon followed by the agonising smell of the chemicals stained into the wood and drenched into the curtains. He ignored the smells and pushed aside the curtain, feeling it scrap against his skin, before taking a seat on the flat cushion. Father Lamton followed soon after, a labored sigh escaping his lips as he plopped down.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It’s been seven days since my last confession.” spoke Matt. The words rolled off the tongue with ease from the amount of times he repeated the phrase 

“So, what is it you’d like to talk about today, Matthew?”

“You know what I do, father.”

“You still need to say it out loud.”

Matt shuffled in his seat. “I broke a man’s femur. I bashed another guys head against a wall ‘til I gave him a severe concussion…” He trailed off.

“I know that’s not all of it, son.”

“I could be here for hours confessing every black thing I’ve done this week.”

“Well, I certainly have the time.”

Matt cracked a small smile. He knew the man’s words were genuine. “Maybe you do, but I don’t.”

“Then I take it you’re going to visit Franklin after this?”

“Every day, ten-o-clock.”

“That’s good to hear. How about this then, just tell me every bone you’ve broken in someone else’s body since your last confession.”

“All of them… more or less.”

Father Lamton took a deep breath. “Matthew, are you--?”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just the crime wave is all.”

It was only a half-truth. If he were being completely honest with himself, just like Father Lamton, he too was slowing down, getting old. He wasn’t nearly as nimble as he used to be, not nearly as precise, and it was because of that that the various nerve strikes and pressure points he used to utilize had to make way for far less… elegant methods, lest he make a mistake and leave someone crippled for life, or worse, dead. 

“I see. If that’s all then…”

“No, no. I’ve been short with Jack, and…” He trailed off.

“Is everything alright, Matthew? You keep fading out.”

“It’s nothing, father, just making sure Grace and Jack are alright.”

“If I might ask, why wouldn’t they be?”

“I have a lot of enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt the ones I love… some of whom even know my true identity.”

“I would love to say that I understand the feeling, but I don’t. What I can understand though is being afraid to lose the one you love, to see them be hurt. You have to help yourself work through that fear, that anxiety, so that it doesn’t stop you from living your life.”

“Thank you for the advice, father.”

“For your penance, learn to deal with your anxiety.”

“Thank you, father.”

“Go in peace.”

Matt began to leave before turning around, “Oh, and before I forget, I left something for you on the cushion.”  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
A floor above them, Matt could hear the sound of cold, hard steel cutting into flesh, accompanied by the shrill whines and steady beeping of machines he could not identify. On the floor below, an older woman cried over what was now, unfortunately, a stinking, infection riddled corpse. And on this floor, right in front of him and his family, the laboured breathing of Matt’s best friend of over thirty years, Foggy Nelson.

“How’re they treating you?” Matt inquired, deadly serious.

Foffy laughed. “The same as the last time you asked.”

“The nurses are—”

“It’s alright, Matt. I’m alright. Everything’s alright.”

He sighed. “Just making sure.”

The pair sat for an awkward moment before Grace interjected, “So, have you watched anymore of Game of Thrones?”

“I’m on season seven.”

“Have you gotten—” Matt began, only to be quickly cut off by Foggy.

“Don’t say anything!”

“My bad.”

There was another pause for a second or two before the trio, wandered into conversation about their youths, specifically those of Matt and Foggy, which were certainly the most… interesting, to say the least.

The two had met as roommates in law school, and after learning to deal with each other, became the best of friends. In their later years at school, they decided they would open up a law firm together: Nelson and Murdock. Matt gave Foggy a hard time about which name they would put first, but eventually relented. A wrench was thrown in their plans when, after neglecting his studies because of… extracurricular activities, Matt failed the bar exam. A year or two later, Matt couldn’t remember which, he did retake the bar and pass, allowing the duo to open up their firm together like they had planned.

And when they did that, a brave new world opened up to them, packed full of danger and excitement and love and loss… but it was too much. Under the pressure caused by his best friend being a costumed vigilante and an already strenuous job, Foggy began to stress eat, slowly gaining weight until finally, he had the massive heart attack that landed him in his current position.

In their engrossing nostalgia, however, none of them noticed when Jack wandered off, not until the conversation eventually got to him that is. As Matt suddenly became aware of his missing son, his heart began to leap out of his chest, his stomach began to turn like a tsunami, and his hands became drenched in a cold, anxious sweat. Without even thinking, he extended his senses out into the world around him, the agonising sounds and smells of life filling his ears and stinging his nostrils. 

As the seconds dragged on and on into infinity, there was one inescapable thought that plagued Matt’s mind, one only heightened by the dangerous life he lead: What? What if he couldn’t find Jack? What if someone had taken him? What would happen to him if he found his son’s body mangled in some box mailed to him? What would happen when that broke him? 

Grace placed her hand on Matt’s shoulder, seemingly aware of the thoughts wracking his mind. “It’s alright, Matt, everything is going to be fine.”

He didn’t believe her.

But it seemed he should have. Eventually, he picked up the sound of Jack’s childish voice some distance away. 

Matt bolted from the chair was previously sitting in, toppling it to the ground because of his careless abandon as he rushed to where his baby boy was… the bathroom. As he came to the wooden door that separated himself and his son, he took a deep breath, trying to let the myriad of emotions plaguing him show through in his voice.

“Hey, Jack,” Matt said he wrapped his knuckles against the door, “You can’t just wander off like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said from inside the bathroom.  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Some parents watch their kids sleep, and up until Jack was born, Matt didn’t understand why. As he listened to his child’s breathing from the living room, a sense of calm washed over him, reassuring him that he had made it through another day in an ever-increasingly dangerous world, filled with increasingly dangerous people. Hell, just a month ago, Atlaneans had flooded the northern part of Manhattan and demanded some God knows what. But that’s not what even scared Matt the most. No, that honor had to go to something else entirely… something much more… worldly, for lack of a better way of putting it. 

Fifteen days ago, during an altercation with the fourth most wanted man in America, Bullseye, Matt’s mask had slipped off, revealing to his long-time nemesis that he was in fact Matthew Murdock, attorney at law. And since that day, he had lived in constant fear, constant anxiety, that something was going to happen not to him, but to his family. Bullseye had already killed two of Matt’s lovers, Elektra Natchios and Karen Page, something he was constantly reminded about whenever they fought. Both deaths had sent him spiralling out of control, and he couldn’t dare to imagine what would happen to him if the process was repeated with his wife, or worse, son.

Matt’s blood boiled just thinking about it, and his wife, who was sitting at the kitchen table with him while they discussed their finances, could tell something was up. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her voice calm and heart rate steady.

“Oh, it’s,” Matt placed his hand over hers, “it’s nothing.”

“You’re distracted all the time, and you barely sleep, even by your standards.”

“I… now’s not the time.”

“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. Where were we then?”

“Let’s see… we covered the utilities for this month… Jack and Foggy’s medical bills.”

Matt heard the rustling of papers as Grace thumbed through them, then a sigh. “We have only enough for… maybe another three months, give or take.”

“I’ll just take another case.”

“If you can get another case.”

Matt looked down. “Things have just been slow is all.”

“Yes, because you haven’t won a case in how long? No one wants to hire you, Matt!” 

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass and a muffled thud caused Matt to whip out of his chair and face the noise. 

“Hey, Matty. Nice family you got.”

Bullseye.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Matt grabbed the pen off the table and hurled it at Bullseye’s head, using the attack as a cover to bridge the gap between them. He couldn’t give him any space. The masked menace simply swatted the pen away, as Matt had expected, but the action left the villain’s defences open, giving Bullseye no time to react when Matt launched himself feet-first against Bullseye’s armored chest, knocking the man back slightly. 

But he wasn’t as rattled as Matt had hoped, clearly his armor was stronger than he thought, and Bullseye managed to lash out with an attack of his own, striking at his opponent's side with a closed fist, of which was studded with small spikes, then followed up with an uppercut to Matt’s jaw. The attacks left blood dripping from Matt’s mouth and side, soaking into his clothes and making them cling against his body. It didn’t phase him, not after nearly thirty years of enduring grueling punishment night after night.

Matt spit the blood pooling in his mouth out onto about where he thought Bullseye’s eyes were, hoping to temporarily obscure his vision. To his surprise, it worked, and he felt the air whizz past his opponent’s hand as he moved to wipe the blood from his face. Seizing the ripe opportunity before him, Matt lashed out with a flurry of blows, bloodying his knuckles against Bullseye’s body armor before following up with a spinning kick to the side of the head. He could hear the man’s padded boots stumble against the floor. Clearly, that had dazed him.

Unlike their previous engagements, Matt’s goal here was not to beat Bullseye into submission, leave him a bloodied and broken mess on the cold concrete of Hell’s Kitchen, but rather to get his family to safety. So, taking advantage of the lull in the fight, he turned and bounded towards his son’s room, finding that Grace had already roused him from his once-peaceful slumber and was now covering him with her body in the corner of the room, their heart beats like thunder in his ears.

“It’s going to be alright.” he said

He had spoken too soon, as not even a second afterwards, a dagger skewered itself into his thigh, soon followed by another aimed not towards him, but his wife. Luckily, he caught managed to direct the dagger so that it only left a gash through the top of her shoulder.

“You sure about that?” mocked Bullseye, strolling up behind Matt.

With an unearthly roar, the bloodied mess of a man that was Matthew Murdock threw himself against Bullseye, knocking him to the ground and pinning his arms to the ground with his knees. “I am,” he growled. 

In a blind rage, Matt pounded against Bullseye, his fists quickly devolving into a mess of blood and bits of glass from his opponent’s mask. He carried on, ignoring the feeling of the glass pushing further into his hands, ignoring the feeling of his knuckles shattering with every blow. He had a family to protect, and right now, right at this very moment, they were in greater danger than they ever had been before. Matt was too late to save Elektra, to slow to save Karen, but now? Well, third time’s the charm.

And as Matt let out years, no, decades of pent up anger and rage and hatred on the face of his mortal enemy, he didn’t even release that the man was long since dead, killed when his skull fractured and pushed into his brain. 

After a few minutes, Matt snapped back to reality, suddenly acutely aware of what he had done. As he felt the warm blood dripping down his shaking hands, he knew that he had entered a brave new world.  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
The death of Matthew Murdock begins in part two, The Man Without Fear!


	2. The Man Without Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye is dead, and Matthew Murdock killed him. After the fourth most wanted man in America broke into the apartment of Matt and his family and made his murderous intentions clear, a vicious fight broke out between the longtime enemies that resulted in Matt bludgeoning Bullseye to death in front of his wife and five-year old son. Living in an apartment, their fight did not go unheard, and worried by the ruckus, one of the neighbors called the police.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Hell’s Kitchen, New York City - Present Day

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Even over the shrill whines of the elevator as it groaned its way upwards, Matthew Murdock could make out a pair of heart beats, pulsing steadily as they patiently waited for the doors to slide open and drop them off at their destination: The floor his apartment was on. Completely numb from what had just transpired though, he paid it no mind, instead opting to drag himself off the now lifeless body of Bullseye and flop to the ground, his trembling, blood soaked arms splayed out like a cross. Taking a deep breath, Matt tried to clear his mind of the last vestiges of the rage that had once engulfed him, a new swirl of emotions filling the void left as he did so. 

‘What have I done?’

Thud thud.

Thud thud.

Thud thud.

Muffled footsteps worked their way closer and closer to where he was, the mind numbing sound of idle chatter mixed in. With a small moan, Matt picked himself up from the floor, feeling the blood drip off his shattered knuckles as he slumped up against his son’s bedside, staining it with blood matted hair. Carefully, he reached over his side, the action causing him to wince as he traced his fingertips along his ribcage, feeling for any injuries he may have sustained. Luckily, there was nothing too severe. 

‘What have I done?’

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“NYPD. Anyone home? We got complaints saying it sounded like there was some fighting going on.” said one of the officers.

Matt tried to force out of a response, but nothing came.

Once more the officer knocked. “This is the NYPD. Open up, or we’re coming in.”

Still no response.

“We’re coming in.” the other officer sounded.

With a thunderous kick, one of the officers crashed open the door, the pair’s guns already drawn as they entered into the ravaged apartment. Instantly, their heart rates spiked, and they brought their guns into a firing position. Slowly, they crept through the apartment, following a trail of blood and destruction that brought them to Jack’s room. 

One of the officers gasped. “My God…” 

Matt could only imagine what the scene looked like, but he knew it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hands in the air!” one of them shouted. “On the ground!”

Matt did as the officer said without a word. Grace, on the other hand, tried to speak, only to find she was still far to shook to utter a word.

“We’re going to need an ambulance at 322 W 57th St.” said the other officer.

“You are under arrest on suspiscion of first degree murder. You have the right to remain silent…”

The officer’s voice drowned out as Matt’s mind wandered elsewhere.

‘What have I done?’  
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Hell’s Kitchen, New York City - The Next Day

It wasn’t his first time in a jail cell, far from it actually, but it was certainly the first time he was this… shaken, while being in one. Every time previous, there was an almost quite conviction to his being there, after all, if he had wanted to escape, he could have without so much as breaking a sweat. Lure one of the guards forward, smash their head against the bars, take their keys… but not this time. No, not this time… never this time. The blood was still caked underneath his fingernails… Bullseye’s blood.

It should have been eating him up inside… gnawing at the very essence of his being, driving him mad with guilt and remorse… but removed from the situation, as he sat against the cold, rough cement wall, he felt nothing. Not even the slightest smidge of his signature catholic guilt. It was… strange, really, such a far cry from his expectation of what was going to happen. In a way though, Matt supposed it was relieving… being unburdened by such a thing like he so often was.

And unburdened in more than one way he was. Bullseye had been a plague on his life for decades, constantly lurking around the fringes, only appearing to enact horrors that left Matt scarred for the decades that followed. The cold blooded murder of Karen Page and Elektra Nachios were only the tips of the iceburg. When Bullseye had learned of Matt’s secret identity sixteen days ago, Matt became a paranoid, anxiety ridden mess of a man, constantly checking for danger every minute of every day, jumping at less than the drop of a hat. Bullseye had a power over him; he had turned Matt into a fearful puppet, but he was gone now, killed by Matt’s own hand. He had taken back agency over his own life, and for the first time in a long time, he was once more the Man Without Fear.

“You have a visitor, Murdock.” one of the policeman said as he stuck his key into the lock, catching Matt off guard. 

“Who is it?”  
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“Grace…” said Matt as he took a seat and placed the phone to his ear, “Hi…”

“Hey, Matt.” she replied, voice muffled ever so slightly by the pane of glass that sat between them.

“I… uh… I don’t mean to be rude, but why aren’t you with Jack?”

“I wanted to visit you… see how you’re doing. I know jail cells are awful for you. I got Marci to babysit Jack while I’m here.”

“That’s good… Yeah, that works.” Matt took a deep breath. “I’m doing fine. Learned some tricks to deal with places like this over the years.”

“Good to hear. How did you sleep?”

Matt paused, reflecting on whether to tell the truth or not. “I didn’t. I didn’t sleep.”

“Oh, well, I can guess why.” 

Beat.

“Did you meditate at all?” asked Grace.

“I did.”

“That’s something at least.”

“I suppose. How was Jack?”

“He… uh… he didn’t sleep well. Nightmare about what happened, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

Matt leaned back in his chair. “Tell him the man can’t hurt him anymore. Maybe, that will help.”

“Matt…” Grace trailed off, heart fluttering, not sure how to say what she wanted to. “It’s… it’s not Bullseye he had the nightmare about. It was you.”

“That’s… that’s--”

“He watched you kill someone, Matt. Hell, you didn’t just kill him, you… you… there was… is blood everywhere.”

Matt leaned forward, hand running through hair. “I… I don’t know what to say. He was going to kill you guys and I stopped that. For the first time, I stopped that. Grace, I won.”

“You…” her voice wobbled, “you don’t mean that.” Grace’s heart was like thunder in Matt’s ears.

“He can never hurt anyone I care about ever again. I. Won.”

“You killed him, Matt, since when is that a win?”

“Since it’s Bullseye! Since it’s him goddamnit! I killed him! And I would do it again if it meant saving you!”

Beat.

“Grace… do you know how… how afraid I’ve been? Not just since he found out who I was, but since he killed Elektra? Every relationship I’ve had has been… been tainted by him, because I was afraid he was going to kill them as well. For the first time in so long, I am the Man Without Fear.”

“I… I have to go now, Matt. I’m sure Marci is waiting.”

Grace hang up the phone.  
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Manhattan, New York City

The mountain of a man lumbered up to the large window that made up the outer wall of his office, his every footstep shaking the earth beneath him, and pried apart the blinds with his thick fingers, peering out onto the city of which he owned, the greatest city in the world: New York. Hundreds of feet below him, all manor of folk bustled about on the crowded streets, like ants scurrying over a rotten morsel of food, and popped in and out of buildings as if they were ant mounds. In a way, it was a fitting metaphor for humanity… the constant and never ending hurry for resources, only to then be squashed by under some boot. Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime of New York City, knew that struggle all too well, and had long ago struggled to rise above it, only to be represented with challenges he could never have dreamed off once he did.

He was, of course, thinking of his longtime rival, Matthew Murdock, known as Daredevil to the rest of world. Time and time again, the crimson armored vigilante had been a thorn in his operations, but ultimately, he too was nothing but an ant, just one who had managed to avoid his boot. At least that’s what Fisk and those that surrounded him said.

And speaking of those that surrounded him, the sound of knuckles rapping against one of the double dark wood doors suddenly echoed through his office, drawing the Kingpin of Crime from his contemplative state and back into the real world.

“Enter.” Fisk’s voice bellowed.

The door creaked open, revealing the slender form of one James Wesley, Wilson Fisk’s longtime right-hand-man. Striding over to his boss, Wesley carried a look not often worn by him. Beneath his neatly cropped black hair and round glasses, his eyes were heavy with worry, the lines around them only drawing more attention to that fact. 

Noticing this, Fisk asked, “Is everything alright, Wesley?”

“As requested, sir, this is your weekly report on Matthew Murdock.” he handed him a few sheets of paper stapled together, which Fisk took in his meaty hands and began to flip through.

“I see.” Fisk said, “This does present a most… troubling situation.”

“Indeed.”

“I want a psychological analysis on the situation to me by this time tomorrow, as well as this tower’s security doubled. If Matthew Murdock finally breaks, we must be prepared.”  
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The death of Matthew Murdock continues in part three, A Birthday Balloon!


	3. A Birthday Balloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye is dead, and Matthew Murdock killed him. After being arrested on suspicion of first degree murder, Matt spent the night in jail and reflected on what had just transpired. He realized that, with Bullseye dead, he had taken back agency over his life. He was once more the Man Without Fear. Grace came to visit her husband while in jail, and was horrified at Matt’s lack of remorse. Meanwhile, Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, learned of the death of Bullseye at his arch nemesis’ hands, and began to prepare for the worst.

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Manhatten, New York City - Present Day

The tension that filled the New York courthouse was palpable, doubly so for Matthew Murdock. Every bead of sweat that rolled down the curved spine of his prosecutor, Philip McGraw, was like a river rapid crashing in his ears, and the sharp taste of salt that permeated the droplets coated his tongue and filled his nostrils. Most people would find it agonizing, but Matt had long grown used to it. In front of him stood Kirsten McDuffie, his ex-girlfriend and current defense lawyer, who was addressing the presiding judge as things came to a close. Her heart beat steadily in his ears, clearly confident despite Matt wishing she was not.

When she had met with Matt back at the station, she had assured him that he had a clear case of self-defense. A known assassin broke into your apartment and tried to kill you? You have wounds to prove it? Ace in the hole. No questions asked. As much as it pained him to believe, as much as he felt like his heart was being ripped out his chest at merely broaching the idea, he couldn’t help but admit that she was right.

Matt was a hero, and a highly skilled one at that. With all his experience, he should have found another way, found some other option to save his family, but he didn’t. He chose to kill Bullseye, to take the easy way out. What scared Matt the most was that he didn’t know why.

A gentle yet startling nudge caused Matt to shudder, soon followed by the hushed voice of Kirsten. “Hey? Anyone alive in there?”

He cracked a small smile. “Last I checked.”

“Great, now pay attention.”

“You both make compelling arguments,” began the judge, “but I am granting the defenses’s request to have Mister Murdock placed under house arrest with an ankle monitor.”

“Your honor!” Philp yelled.

“Silence, councilman. While the circumstances are… unusual, given that the defendant is a lawyer, his disability, and the current state of the usual holding facilities… well, my decision is final. Next docket.”

The judge banged his gavel.  
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Hell’s Kitchen, New York City - Present Day

Wrapped tightly just above his ankle, the monitor grated against Matt’s skin, rubbing it with every step he took. It was a steady, unyielding irritation as he was escorted down the hall to his apartment by some cop he had not managed to get the name of, the monitor just present enough to annoy him, but not so much that he could simply bite it back. Small things tended to be like that. 

As they drew closer and closer, and the thunderous sounds of laughing and playing children beat louder in his ears, Matt felt a wave of trepidation wash over him. It was Jack’s birthday today, and he and Grace had made sure to give their son the best party they possibly could, despite any financial problems they were having. Balloons, streamers, party bags, the whole shabang were there for their baby to enjoy. As Matt honed in on his son’s voice, it was clear that the parenting duo had succeeded in their task; he was having the time of his life. But what would happen when he arrived? Apparently, Jack was having nightmares about his father, and Grace had certainly seemed… uneasy last she visited him. To top that off, he was showing up with a police escort. Matt wanted nothing more than for his son to have a good time, and he very well felt his presence would ruin that.

All his worries came to a halt once they stopped in front of his apartment door, not because he wanted them to, but rather because they had to to. Time to put on a happy face. As the door creaked open, Matt, to his surprise, felt no change in the heartbeat of anyone in the room, not yet at least. The officer pushed him inside, grunting something that Matt was not paying enough attention to to pick up on, far too preoccupied with holding his breath, waiting for… 

Then it came. Dead silence except for the beating of countless hearts. Matt may have been blind, but he could feel all the eyes in the room lock onto him, burrowing into every fiber of his being. He tried to look calm, relaxed, desperately trying to exude a calming presence in the room.

After more than a few moments of staring and the rapid beating of hearts, Matt felt everyone look away from him, their hearts slowing down and a white noise once more filling the room. It seemed Grace had been waiting for everyone to look away, for what reason, Matt could not have guessed, and she walked up to him, the small clacking of her shoes ringing in his ears even over the sea of sound that surrounded him. 

He was unsure of what to say, but then again, who would be in this situation? He decided to take some small measure of comfort in the thought. “So… uh… how is Jack doing?” 

“He’s fine. Having a blast with his friends, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Just before you two get into it,” the officer interrupted, “I just want to make sure you know the rules of your confinement, Mister Murdock.”

“I do. I’ve been a lawyer longer than you’ve been alive. Now, will you please…” He trailed off, knowing that the words need not be spoken.

Matt heard the man’s footsteps as he walked away.

“Grace, I--” Matt was quickly cut off.

“You don’t need to say it, honey.” she said rather shortly. “You’ve said it to me many times already. Let’s just focus on giving Jack a good time, alright? We can talk about… us… later.”

Matt swallowed hard, and nodded his head, well aware he had an unpleasant conversation ahead of him.  
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A few hours ago, Jack’s birthday part had ended, leaving the boy drained of all vigor and putting up little fight when Grace went to put him to bed, a welcome relief. After that, Matt and Grace had wasted little time before they got to cleaning up the mess the party had left. They worked in silence for some time before… 

“So, Jack clearly had a good time…” said Grace.

“I would agree with that.”

“And did you notice anything… strange about him?”

“I…” Matt trailed off. Everytime he got near his son, he had tensed up. “No, I didn’t notice anything.”

“With those ears of yours? Those fingers? Matt…”

“What? I didn’t. You know how my senses get when there’s a lot of people around.”

“Matt… just please… humor me.”

“Grace, I really…” he sighed. “He’s so scared of me.”

“He is.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“That’s why we need to talk. We’re going to do nothing.”

“There’s no way I’m going to let my son be afraid of me.”

“There’s… there’s no easy way to say this…”

“Grace, what is it?”

She took a deep breath. “Just that, uh… gah!” Grace stormed away, followed closed by Matt.

The pair took a seat on the couch in the living area.

“Honey,” Matt took hold of his wife’s hands, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“It’s just that… that I don’t want to hurt you. You’re already going through something and I don’t want to pile another thing on top of that.”

“If this is about Jack, you need to tell me.” There was an edge to his voice.

Grace took another deep breath. Judging from the sound of skin scratching against skin, she was wringing her hands as well. “I’m leaving you, Matt, and I’m taking Jack with me.”

His grip tightened. “What do you mean?”

“I just think that Jack needs some time away from all… this.”

Matt slumped back. 

“We’re not leaving forever--” Grace began before Matt cut her off.

“You’re not leaving at all!” he screamed. “Running away from this is not the solution!”

“Matt--”

“This is when he needs me now more than ever!”

“You’ll wake up--”

“This is the wrong choice, Grace!”

A voice intercut from the other side of the room, their heart beating like thunder. “Who’s Grace? Why’re you guys yelling?”

It was Jack.

Grace was quick to respond. “It’s nothing, sweety. Let Mommy tuck you back into bed.” She got up from the couch and walked over to her son, stroking his face with the back of her hand. Jack’s heartbeat lowered.

A mother’s touch… until now, he had never truly believed in the idea, the idea that the mother had some magical power over their children that the father simply did not possess. But hearing his son’s heartbeat plummet like that, and so quickly, he would have to have been insane to not give credence to the idea, as much as he may have loathed it. It meant, in a way, admitting defeat, something that Matt was far from in the habit of doing. He was supposed to always get back up, and no matter how much he tried to shake it, he couldn’t help but feel like, by letting his own wife leave him, he was lying down. Taking it. 

But if it helped Jack… wasn’t it his responsibility to allow it to happen, even if he knowingly hurt himself by doing so? Matt thought back to his own father, the man whose name Jack bore, and contemplated what he had done, what he had sacrificed. Instantly, his mind snapped to a similar event that had occurred when he was but a baby. When Matt was born, his mother, Maggie, promptly began to suffer from postpartum depression, which lead into postnatal depression. One night, in a fit of mental illness, she attempted to assault her own baby, only to be stopped by her husband, Matt’s father. Realizing the danger she was to her family, his mother had decided to leave, not wanting to potentially endanger anyone again. The decision turned out to be for the best, because, after being taken in by the church, she received the help she needed, and Matt lead a happy life, until his accident of course. The answer was suddenly so clear.

“Go with your mother, bud. You guys have a big day tomorrow.”

“Where are we going?” asked Jack.

“You and your mother are going on vacation.”

While Matt may have been blind, he knew his son had surely grown a wide smile on his face. He decided to take some measure of comfort in that.   
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Grace and Jack had left yesterday afternoon, bags packed for a lengthy “vacation.” He knew it was the right choice, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. As Matt laid back on the couch, felt its coarseness press into his skin, he twirled the string of a left over party balloon in his fingers, and allowed his mind to wander off into the abyss. 

For the first time in so long, he was alone, left without the two most important people in the world to him. Matt would have never guessed it would have happened like this. No, if were a betting man, he would have put his money on… Bullseye, whom had recently died at his hands. Guess he would have lost that bet, huh? Matt couldn’t help but let out a morbid laugh at the thought.

Why did he choose to kill Bullseye, though? Despite all his experience, had he simply panicked under the pressure of his family’s life being threatened? Or had he been so lost in his rage that it had simply happened without him noticing? Suddenly, Matt’s thoughts wandered towards his conversation with the priest he’d had the day of the incident.

“Self-Help” he had said. Yes, that was it. Matt killed Bullseye to protect his family, true, but chose to kill him out of everything he could have done because deep down, he wanted to help himself. Self-Help. In an instant, all the stress and anxiety and fear that hung over Matt’s life because of Bullseye would be gone. Matt knew that his life would be better off without Bullseye, so he had taken that opportunity to remove him.

That’s why he killed Bullseye. Self-help.   
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The death of Matthew Murdock continues in part four, Self-Help!


	4. Self-Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye is dead, and Matthew Murdock killed him. After being put under house arrest and given an ankle monitor, Matt was brought back to his home just in time for his son’s birthday party. But all was not well. Jack was afraid of his father, scarred by the fight between him and Bullseye, and Grace was concerned for her son’s well being as well as being rattled herself. At night, after the party, Grace talked with Matt about what had happened, eventually saying that she was going to take Jack and leave for a little while to get some space. Matt initially resisted, but gave in once he realized his father had done something very similar when he was a boy. Left without his family though, Matt came to a dark realization about why he had killed Bullseye: Self-Help.

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Manhattan, New York City - Present

The steady beating of fingers echoed through the office of Wilson Fisk as the man himself sat tapping said digits against his carved wood desk, eyes burrowing holes into the double doors that made up the entrance. He was waiting for something, that much was clear, but what was it that could make him so… anxious, mar his face with such deep lines around his brow and eyes, ? A man such as the Kingpin did not often succumb to worry. No, he could not allow himself to be consumed by fear. That would be admitting a lack of control, and in his line of business, control meant power. So, whatever had caused the break in composure must have been something of a crisis, to say the least.

The tapping of fingers that once filled the office was suddenly cut off by a sharp knock at the door, causing Fisk to jet up from his seat, knocking it over. Taking a deep breath as if to compose himself and exude the malice and power his underlings have come to expect, he picked up the chair, setting it up right, then lumbering over to the window that comprised the outer wall of his office, he positioned himself so that he was looking out onto the city below, seemingly lost in deep thought.

“Come in.” he bellowed.

The door creaked open. It was James Weasley, longtime assistant to the Kingpin.

“As requested, sir, I have your weekly report on Matthew Murdock.”

“Excellent.” The Kingpin moved over to Weasley, an unusual action in and of itself that betrayed the concern of the man. He took the report from his assistant and began to read it in great detail.

“If I may comment, sir.” Weasely glanced up to his boss, who nodded as a sign to continue. “I’ve already read the report, and I firmly believe that, given Mister Murdock’s current mental state and history, that it is only a matter of time before he makes an attempt on your life.”

A low growl escapes Fisk’s lips. “Let him try.”

“Sir, since the Bullseye incident--”

“We have forewarning, Weasley. Time to prepare, and prepare against him specifically. This tower’s security has been doubled since the incident, and I have several assassins at my disposal should things go awry.”

“If you insist, sir.”  
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Hell’s Kitchen, New York City

In through the nose, and out through the mouth. Matthew Murdock repeated the phrase over and over in his head as he tried to force the thoughts free from his mind, force himself into a trance-like state. In other words, he was trying to meditate, trying to be inthe optimal world. No matter how hard he tried, some stray thought or emotion would work its way into his mind, tarnishing all his progress up until that point. It was an agonizing task, but one that he had resolved himself to completing. 

Shortly after his accident, a blind man named Stick had forced himself into Matt’s life, and for seemingly no reason, at least at the time, began to train him in various forms of combat. The training was grueling, often leaving a young Matt with lumps, bruises and cuts in various places across his body. There was more than just physical training though. In addition to being taught how to utilize his newly acquired enhanced senses, Stick taught him how to meditate, usually doing so after their sparring sessions. The old man had said that the meditation would help him clear his mind, help him realize what his mistakes had been so he wouldn’t repeat them again. To Matt’s surprise, the old kook was right; it did help. 

Some of that clarity was what Matt needed in times like this, but unfortunately, the distinct sound of old knuckles rapping against his door soon met his ears, trashing all hope of meditation. 

Picking himself up from the mat, Matt yelled, “Coming!” From the beating of the heart behind the door and subtle grind of bone against bone, he could tell it was Father Lamton. Matt opened the door, “Hello, father.”

“Nice to see you, Matthew.” said the old man, “May I come in?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Matt moved to the side and ushered Father Lamton in.

“Lovely house you got here.”

“Grace…” Matt trailed off for a second before continuing. “Grace did a wonderful job, I’m sure.”

“Speaking of Grace, where is she?”

Matt looked away. “She… she… uh…” He went over to the couch sat in the living area and took a seat. “She’s gone. Left with Jack a while ago.”

“My God… that’s terrible.” Father Lamton took a seat beside Matt. “May I ask what happened?”

“Father, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Are you sure, son? This is--”

“I’m fine!” There was a distinct note of anger in his voice. Matt took a deep breath. “I promise, I’m fine.”

“Well, I can’t force you to talk now, can I?”

Matt cracked a small smile.

“I hate to sound rude, but if you don’t want to talk, Matt, why’d you ask me to come?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t want have that conversation right now.”

“Ah, I see. What do you want to talk about then?”

“I suppose I just wanted some company.” That was a lie. Matt knew exactly why he wanted Father Lamton, but it wasn’t exactly something he could ask point blank. No, he had to ease things towards that point.

“How has your day been, father?”

“Nothing remarkable, for better or worse. Though I am finally on some medication for my arthritis.”

“That’s great. It really is. How do you feel?”

“I feel better than I have in years, if we’re being honest.”

“That good, huh?” It was sentiment Matt himself could echo. After he had killed Bullseye, all the stress and anxiety that had been so ever present in his life simply vanished. No longer did he have to fear that man harming anyone ever again. But as time passed, Matt slowly realized that there would always be someone else… someone else that could bring harm to the ones he cared about or anyone else for that matter. Any man with a gun or a knife or even a fist that held ill-intentions in his heart kept the flame of evil alive and burning. He had to help himself, and everyone else, by working to extinguish that flame. But did the ends justify the means? That was why he had asked Father Lamton here. Luckily, an opportunity had presented itself to press the question. “At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, I feel the same father.”

“Oh? Care to elaborate.”

“Well, I was feeling so… anxious and stressed. But then recently… recently something happened, I did something, and it all went away.”

“I recall you mentioning that. I suppose I’m foolish to believe you took my advice about ‘self-help’?”

“In a way.” Matt leaned back. “You know, I suppose I wasn’t entirely accurate when I said everything I was feeling simply… went away. It did, for a time, but as of late, all that has been… creeping back into my life.”

“That’s terrible.”

“The question may sound off, father, but I don’t have to feel this way, right? I don’t have to feel so… anxious… so stressed?”

Father Lamton placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Of course, son; you deserve to be happy. I know that in times such as these, you tend to… to put it lightly, self loathe or self-destruct or whatever you call it and not deal with the problem, but the fact that you reached out to me… that it seems like you’re trying to deal with the problem in a healthy way… I’m proud of you.”

Matt couldn’t help but crack a smile, though probably for the wrong reasons. “That means a lot, father.”

Having gotten the heavy stuff out of the way, Matt began to push the conversation towards lighter fare so as to not burden Father Lamton with every dark thought he harbored. The priest was one of the few people he could truly lay himself bare before, and the man in question was certainly aware of that, always taking the time to talk to Matt whenever he may have needed it. After about half an hour, Father Lamton took notice of the time and saw fit to get back his business at the church, once more leaving Matt alone with his thoughts, though he did have much to think about.

His conversation with Father Lamton had bore great fruit. He’d gotten the answer he needed, albeit rather indirectly: If it helped him, he was doing the right thing… he was justified. With Bullseye out of the way, the greatest stressor left in his life was Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, a man more capable of harming him or his family than Bullseye ever was. His next course of action was clear: He would kill the Kingpin. 

But as Matt suddenly became aware of the monitor wrapped around his ankle, what was once so clear became murky. He knew what would happen if he broke his ankle monitor and left his house. A simple case of self-defense would be blown up into something far more severe, and yet, Matt couldn’t deny the pull he felt to go through with it anyway. He chalked it up to one simple thought: What more did he have to lose? And how much did he stand to gain?

With that in mind, Matt found himself drifting to chest he kept tucked away in his room’s cabinet, and shattering the monitor around his ankle.  
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The death of Matthew Murdock continues in part five, Bloody Smile!


	5. Bloody Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye is dead, and Matthew Murdock killed him. While under house arrest, Matt decided to call Father Lamton for some advice. After some small talk, Matt pushed into the meat of the conversation, carefully probing for an answer to his question without tipping the priest off. Eventually, he got his answer and came to the conclusion that there was only one course of action ahead of him: It was time to kill the Kingpin.

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Manhattan, New York City

Torrents of rain slapped down against gravelly New York rooftops, flowing in between the groves like a rushing river. To the ordinary man, the sound of such a thing was imperceptible, but Daredevil was no ordinary man, not in any sense of the word. Clad in crimson armor, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen bounded across his city’s rooftops, heavy boots crunching against rock so fast and so furiously that it may as well have been thunder. He should have been in agony, a man of his age, an aching mass of rippling muscle, spent. But there was a fire within that kept him going, a fire fueled by a new found truth, a newfound perspective on life, a truth that had burned away a burden on his life. 

And it was because of his new unburned state that Daredevil finally had the resolve to do what needed to be done, for the sake of himself, his family, and the people of New York: Kill Wilson Fisk. For far too long, he had let that piece of human garbage walk the Earth, destroy the lives of tens of thousands of people whether it be through the drugs he pushed, the gangs he armed, or simply the people had murdered with his own bare hands. Merely thinking of the Kingpin, how he roamed around out there in the concrete jungle of New York free of consequence, made Daredevil stick to his stomach, made him choke down the bile that began to rise in his throat. 

At long last, Daredevil arrived at Fisk Towers, instantly greeted by the stench of the man he had come to kill even through the pouring rain that matted it down. He didn’t let such a bother stop him though and continued onward in his free-running, twirling over obstacles and leaping across the gaps between buildings with ease. To his luck, the buildings he had been traversing over thus far were quite a few stories tall, making it all the easier for him to break through one of the tower’s windows.

With a growl that seemed to echo through the night sky, Daredevil launched himself from the roof’s ledge, doing a somersault midair so that he would land feet first against the window. While it was no surprise that his feet collided against the glass, it certainly was one when it didn’t break, repelling the force of Daredevil’s kick handily. An audible gasp escaped his lips as he suddenly found himself plummeting to his death.

In an instant, Daredevil reached out into the world around with his superhuman senses, casting them out like a fishing pole. He felt everything in excruciating detail, everything from the way the whistled ten blocks away to the scented candle burning in Stark Tower. But those were too far away. He had to reel things in. Taking a deep breath, Daredevil steadied himself, paying attention to the way the wind slapped and rolled to find something, anything he could grab onto. To his luck, the steady rattling of a flag pole--

FRRRRRAKK.

‘Damn it!’ He had been far too preoccupied with falling to death to take notice of the other impending method of his demise: Armed men on the street below, and now he was paying the price for it. A hail of bullets shrieked through the air, making Daredevil dizzy with the sheer power bursting from them. But, as a man of great experience, he didn’t let such a thing get to him… too much at least, and he was able to hurl his body into a sloppy twirl while he hastily unsheathed one of his escrima sticks, launching a grappling hook from the tip that wrapped around the flagpole he had located.

While the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen may have conquered one danger, there was still another very much so still present, one that seemed keen on reminding the vigilante of its existence when a bullet ripped through Daredevil’s shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground. Though he was able to roll with the momentum of his fall, it was only to an extent, as soon as he landed upon the ground, he felt a sharp pain creep up his shin, beginning from his ankle. ‘Hairline fracture. Shit.’ 

Gritting his teeth through the pain, Daredevil did his best to pay it no mind, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand. He ducked into a nearby alley, clutching his bleeding shoulder while he formulated some plan of attack in the precious few seconds he made before he was set upon once more by his attackers. By his count, there were about fifteen of them, all armed with fully automatic rifles by the way the guns had blistered in his ears, and given their mere presence outside Fisk’s building, it was clear they were there on his orders, meaning that were also more than likely outfitted with highly protective armor. It wouldn’t be easy, that much was sure. 

Daredevil’s ear perked up. They were about to round the corner. He hurried over behind a dumpster in the alley and waited… waited for the cacophony of footsteps to draw within arms reach… waited till the rage stewing deep in loins could come bursting forth in a fit of unearthly, violent aggression. To his luck, one of the goons soon turned the corner, and soon found his head smashed against the nearby brick wall. 

Instantly, the heart rates of each and every goon spiked, bringing a twisted smile to Daredevil’s lips. They were scared and in close quarters. Good. Without missing a beat, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen brought the man he had slammed against the wall in front of his body, taking advantage of his dazed state to use him like a meat shield, expecting to be set upon with a flurry of bullets. His theory proved to be correct and his human shield soon found himself peppered with bullets, his armor protecting him… mostly. 

While the Devil may have been protected from harm derived from bullets, he was afforded no such protection when it came to the sound they emitted as they exploded from the gun’s barrel, something that was only amplified by the close quarters he found himself in. He knew something like this would happen, that by choosing to take the fight here he ran the risk of his super-enhanced hearing being turned into a disadvantage, and yet, he had done it anyway. Why is that? Because after nearly thirty years of being Daredevil, he had learned to deal with the pain, how to cope with the feeling of his eardrums bursting, the blood trickling out his ears. The Murdock boys were gluttons for punishment and that was a tradition he proudly continued.

That in mind, Daredevil pushed into the crowd before him, an animalistic growl escaping his lips as he did so. The goons tried to put up some measure of resistance, but to no avail. Unable to get the footing they would have needed, they quickly found themselves stumbling about, off balance, something that was quickly taken advantage of when Daredevil used his human shield as a platform to vault himself a few feet above his opponents, then come crashing down on top of them. While he may have only knocked down five, it was more than enough and the effect it had on them could not be understated: Fear. 

Unsheathing his other escrima stick, Daredevil leapt at the man in front of him, knocking him across the head with one stick then following that up with another to the knee. Their armor was protective, meaning that it was best to go for places where, regardless of how much the hit was felt, there would still be some small amount of effectiveness. In one fluid motion, Daredevil cracked yet another goon over the head so hard that his faceplate broke, then wrapped his leg around the man’s, pulling him to the ground and breaking it with a highty heave. The sound of it was sickening, doubly so to Daredevil, but he soldiered on.

And soldiered on indeed. Like a whirling derby of destruction, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen moved from goon to goon, breaking bone and brick as he did so, smearing his surroundings in the blood of his enemies, living up to his name. Yet, despite his seeming unstoppableness, there were chinks in that facade, ones that could be exploited with ease if he wasn’t careful. Fifteen men was a lot to work through and combined with their armor and the fact that he had ran here… a man of his age wasn’t meant for this kind of activity. Hell, no man of any age was meant to do what Daredevil had been doing for most his life. As the fight raged on, he grew tired, more tired than he already was, grew so slow that he seemed to be moving in slow motion. The force behind his hits lessened and with that, his chances of victory. A change in approach was required. But to what?

But before he could answer that question, one of the thugs dealt a sharp blow to Daredevil’s head, a blow that pushed him down into a kneeling position. Smelling blood in the water, the Devil’s assaulters circled around him, guns trained. Without even checking, he knew that it was in this moment that their hearts were pounding the fastest, pushing the most blood through their veins not because of adrenaline or anything as trivial as that, but because they didn’t know what was going to come next. To them, the fight seemed to have drawn to its conclusion. Daredevil was on his knees, tired, surrounded on all sides! Surely, there was no way of coming out of this alive? But that was the thing, it was no sure thing. It was that unknown that caused fear to envelop their hearts, cause them to second guess themselves and hesitant. That was how Daredevil was going to make it out alive. Slowly, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen rose to his feet.

“Come on. Shoot me. Isn’t what you were paid to do?”

He walked towards the man in front of him, met with nothing but the uneasy clattering of metal. “Do it. Shoot me.”

He moved even closer. Still nothing. “Shoot me! Shoot me god damn it!”

A gnarly smile twisted across his blood covered lips as Daredevil took the gun of the quivering man before him and pressed it to his head. “Shoot! Me! Fucking shoot me you fucking coward!”

Nothing. “That’s what I thought.”

With a quick burst of speed, Daredevil maneuvered himself behind the man, taking greater hold of the gun so that he could force it up against his neck, choking him out while also putting his opponents directly in front of him. Doing a quick scan of the area, he found seven heartbeats pumping in his ear. Still a lot, but he had worked through eight of them so far. Feeling the man go limp against his chest, Daredevil released and let him fall to the ground, quickly lashing out with the grappling hook in one of his sticks against the goon furthest from him, aiming specifically for the gaps in between the armor. With a sickening crunch, the hook latched itself onto his flesh and the Devil pulled forward, bringing the man stumbling towards him, an action that would not immediately be capitalized upon, though for good reason.

Summoning an anger that was uncomfortably close to becoming the only thing propelling him forward, Daredevil charged the six men still standing, of whom had thankfully grouped tightly together, most likely due to the fear instilled in them by the Devil before their very eyes. Upon his recent scan, Daredevil had been lucky enough to detect a sizable trash barrel behind the people he was charging towards, something he intended to make use of very quickly. Finding an open space between the goons in which he could launch his hook through in less than a second, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen shot his grappling hook, latching onto the barrel. With a mighty heave, he pulled it forward, knocking three of the men down, leaving another three still left standing, though that would be quickly remedied.

Leaping feet first at the small group of men before, Daredevil knocked the middle one square in the chest, a fate that soon followed his compatriots as, as he came down, Daredevil took their heads in his heads and smashed them to the ground. Bounding up to his feet soon after, the Devil finally made use of the stumbling man when he took hold of his head and smashed it down against one of the goons lying prone on the ground.

To the laymen, it may have seemed like Daredevil’s job was far from over. After all, no one stayed down after being merely knocked on the head! But there was something they weren’t considering, something that was the most powerful weapon in the arsenal of any vigilante: Fear. Pure, unbridled fear. Fear of pain. Fear of the man dealing the pain. Fear that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t stop with pain, veering into the deadly. That was the reason why Daredevil allowed himself to stumble out of the alley, breathing heavy and labored, groaning as he clutched what was probably a cracked rib at the very least, and slump against the wall, verging on exhaustion.

Fifteen men. Fifteen men just to start. And he was like this. He was getting old, perhaps too old to continue not only tonight, but at all. Maybe, this was his last hurray of sorts, his last and greatest triumph over the scum that dared to call his city home. That in mind, Daredevil dragged himself back to his feet, steeling himself for the marathon yet to come. Fifteen men. Fisk would need more than that to keep him down.  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Rain-slicked shoes mashed against the coarse rooftop as they hurried towards the helicopter parked on the roof. Said shoes belonged to none other than Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, at least until the end of the night that was, assuming Daredevil had his way with him. It was that very thing that Fisk was intent on avoiding; he had worked too hard to get where he was and there still so much left to do. As such, when he had learned that Matthew Murdock had killed Bullseye, he had begun to prepare for the worst, knowing that the fallout of such an event would have drastic repercussions. 

Fisk had ordered his building’s security tripled, had every pane of glass replaced with it’s bulletproof counterpart. Hell, he’d even ordered men to patrol the surrounding area to give forewarning and delay the oncoming storm that was Daredevil: and none of it had mattered. The Devil had torn through his forces like it was nothing, twisting bone into a variety of sickly positions, spraying blood into places previously thought impossible to reach, and even going so far as to lodge men’s heads in walls. From the security monitor in his office, Fisk had watched all this transpire, watched his long time nemesis slowly become more and more unhinged as he worked his way towards his destination. For the first time in a long time, Wilson Fisk felt afraid. 

Now, the Kingpin found himself mere feet away from his last chance at escaping what could very easily become his final moments on this Earth. The mountain of a man heaved one of his feet onto the helicopter’s steps, only to freeze when he heard the distinct sound of the doorway that led to the roof being slammed open.

“Fisk!” Daredevil shouted. 

The two armed guards accompanying Fisk pointed their guns at Daredevil, only to be stopped by the Kingpin. He lowered his foot from the helicopter’s step. “Mister Murdock.”

Daredevil began to storm towards his enemy, eyes smoldering with a deep seated rage beneath his red slitted lenses, a snarl contorted across his lips. The sight of such a thing would cause any other man to cower and beg for mercy, but Fisk had been playing this game for a long time; he knew how to play his cards. Keeping his composure, the Kingpin allowed Daredevil to move towards him, allowing his rage to build and build until finally, the vigilante came before him and threw a punch, beginning yet another battle between the pair.

The hit landed squarely on the old man’s jaw, sending such power through it that cracks formed in the bone. A disturbing smile formed on Daredevil’s face; he could feel the bone begin to splinter through his gloves. Egged on by a horrific kind of glee, the Devil followed his initial hit up with a strike to the gut, but the attack left his back exposed, something that was soon capitalized on when Fisk dropped his balled fists down on Daredevil, knocking him to the ground. 

With a loud thud, Daredevil slammed against the cold, wet cement, lying there stunned for the briefest of seconds before he gathered the strength to push himself back up, albeit not nearly as fast as he should have, a sign that the fatigue raviging his body from fighting through floor after floor of armed men was taking its toll. His once controlled breathing now ragged, uneven, Daredevil raised his fists once more, readying himself for another bout.

While he couldn’t see, Daredevil could tell a cruel smile was plastered across Fisk’s face; he relished in watching him suffer. So, it was no surprise when he threw his log of arm forward with surprising speed for a man of his age, but even less of a surprise when his far more nimble opponent managed to duck out of the way, albeit barely. Taking advantage of the Kingpin’s outstretched arm, Daredevil chose to deliver a series of quick jabs to the side, making his opponent let out a pain addled growl.

But that pain soon turned to rage as an unearthly howl of rage escaped Fisk’s lips, taking hold of Daredevil by the head and slamming it against his knee once, twice, three times before he hoisted him over his head, belly up, and slammed his back against his knee. Instead of breaking his opponent’s goddamn back, as Fisk had intended, he had rather broken himself. He was an old man with weak bones and he had just repeatedly slammed something against his knee. It was no surprise it had shattered. Letting loose a cry of pain, he fell to the ground, clutching his knee.

Daredevil, knocked once more to the ground by Fisk, struggled up to the ground, head swimming from an impossible sense of vertigo and more than likely a concussion to boot. While it took him a few tries, he managed to get two feet under him… somehow. The amount of punishment he had endured tonight was astounding; he should have been dead ten times over, yet he was still going. Good thing he was about to end it all. 

“Any last words, Fisk?” asked Daredevil.

“Only seven…” a devilish grin came over the Kingpin’s face. “Did you notice the person behind you?”

“What--” 

Suddenly, two blades slashed at Daredevil’s back, leaving bloody gashes across it despite being protected by his armor, soon met by two feet pushing him across the roof. There was only one person with blades capable of doing such a thing and who could so easily avoid his senses. 

Ikari.

Slowly, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen turned to face his dark counterpart. The mercenary had been granted abilities virtually identical to that of his own in some sort of accident; he didn’t know the details. In addition to that, he was a highly trained combatant, more than likely trained by the Hand given his fighting style, and was Daredevil’s equal in every respect. Once, back when he was living in San Francisco, he had fought Ikari for hours to a standstill, a feat that he unfortunately would be unable to replicate given his fatigue and advancing age. Ikari would have no such problem though; he had not fought through an entire building full of people. And yet, despite being at a clear disadvantage, Daredevil knew that he had to fight on all the same, though it wasn’t like he’d be given much of a choice in the matter.

“We meet again, Devil,” spoke Ikari. 

Between heavy breaths, Daredevil said. “Shut up and fight.” He assumed a fighting stance. 

With a seemingly unnatural speed, Ikari moved to Daredevil’s side, slashing at him with his twin scythes and finding purchase on his opponent's bicep. But the blow came with a drawback: Being within arms reach of the Devil. Knowing full well that Ikari was most dangerous with his scythes, he took the opportunity to disarm his opponent, knocking both blades across the roof with a few quick jabs. The action took yet even more out of Daredevil’s nearly depleted reserves though. Soon, not even his sheer force of will would be able to make up for the shortcomings on his body, something that was approaching far too fast for comfort. At this moment, however, the Devil decided to take solace in the small victory that was disarming Ikari.

Undeterred by the loss of his blades, Ikari pressed the assault, lashing out with a flurry of powerful, fast strikes, quickly shattering Daredevil’s feeble defense and colliding against his already broken and bleeding torso. With each hit, the vigilante let out a pain addled cry as he sustained new trauma. Left with no other option, he began to backpedal away, hoping to try and at least put some distance between himself and his opponent. The action quickly turned against him though, as putting the very distance that he thought would prolong his life only ended in putting him in even more danger. With some space between himself and Daredevil, Ikari ran to retrieve his blades, knowing that with them, he would make short work of the Devil.

“We’re ready to leave, sir!” shouted James Wesley over the beating of the helicopter’s blades. 

“Get me out of here! Now!” replied the Kingpin, gritting his teeth against the pain of his broken knee while someone helped him to his helicopter.

The helicopter took off.

‘Shit.’ With Fisk gone, the very reason he had come here, the very reason he had placed his life on the line, the very reason he had broken his ankle monitor, throwing away an easy chance at freedom, was for naught! The very thought of such a thing angered Daredevil to his core, but it actually happening? An unearthly roar echoed through the rain filled night sky. 

“You came here to kill him,” mocked Ikari. “You failed, Mister Murdock.”

A look of unspeakable rage marred Daredevil’s face. “I guess I’ll just have to settle for you then!”

Like a bullet through the air, Daredevil felt one of Ikari’s scythes screaming towards him, opting to grab hold of it instead of simply dodging it. In one singular, fluid motion, an action afforded to him by his newfound rage, Daredevil sent the blade hurling at Ikari with such speed that the mercenary was unable to dodge it. With a sickening crack, the scythe buried itself into his opponents shoulder, going so far as to puncture bone. Even matted down by the rain, Daredevil was able to clearly smell the iron of Ikari’s blood, a sign that there was a lot of it streaming from the wound. 

Such an act of brutality could not sate the inferno burning in the gut of the Devil though. No, far more would be required before that could even be broached. With snarl contorted across his face, murder seated deep within his eyes, Daredevil marched towards a fallen Ikari. Slowly, he unsheathed both his escrima sticks, twirling them around in the air as if to create some air of menace. He reached his opponent, who had struggled up to his feet, and was met with a swift kick, which was promptly blocked with the use of his sticks. Daredevil grabbed his opponent by the folds of his clothes and forced him to the ground, ripping out the scythe buried in his shoulder and pressing it to Ikari’s neck.

As the Devil felt the blade sink into the mercenary’s flesh, he hesitated. Ikari was broken, helpless, practically bleeding out on the rain slick rooftop. He was defeated. Despite how much he wanted to end the man’s life, it would be wrong… wouldn’t it? After all, the act of murder was frowned upon by both God and man alike. And yet, Daredevil still found himself pressing the blade to Ikari’s throat. Why? Because he had made it his life’s work to protect the people of Hell’s Kitchen. Hell, not just them, but all people! All people of every race and creed! And on top of that, if he didn’t kill Ikari, and then he went on to kill God knows how many people, wouldn’t their blood be on his hands? Wouldn’t he have killed them by not killing Ikari in this very moment? Not killing Ikari would be failing to protect people and failing to live up to the word of God. A simple decision.

With a quick flick of the wrist, Daredevil let the blade slip through Ikari’s flesh, killing him.  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Matthew Murock dies in part six, Rest in Peace!


	6. Rest in Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye is dead, and Matthew Murdock killed him. After deciding to kill Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, Matt once more dones his Daredevil armor and storms Fisk Towers. Matt fought his way through hordes of Fisk’s men to finally reach his enemy on the rooftop of the building. Fisk and Matt had a brief fight, the former eventually sicking Ikari on the latter. Matt fought Ikari in a brutal, bloody battle, eventually deciding that he was too dangerous to be left alive and killed him.

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Hell’s Kitchen, New York - Present Day

Like an oncoming storm, boots thundered against the floor of Matthew Murdock’s apartment building, charging towards the man’s residence with an urgency rarely ever witnessed. Fifteen minutes ago, the monitor wrapped around Mister Murdock’s ankle while he was under house arrest stopped responding, likely meaning only one grave thing. Police were called to the scene to investigate, but it was only a formality. Everyone knew what had happened. Everyone knew that the supposedly blind man was a lawyer by day, vigilante by night. That he was Daredevil. 

Back in two-thousand, Murdock’s secret identity was leaked in the tabloids, making headlines all around the nation despite it being nothing more than a baseless accusation, though it’s not like that mattered to the public. The blind lawyer fought the claim in court, of course, and won, of course, but the damage was already done. His secret was out there and there was no turning back. And so as the two poor cops busted down his door, they knew it was a waste of time. 

As they walked through his apartment, guns drawn and at the ready, beads of cold sweat trickled down the backs of their spines. For nearly thirty years, this man had been dealing with the worst the city had to offer, somehow triumphing time and time again; what the hell were they supposed to do if he was still there and didn’t take kindly to their presence? What if he acted like some caged, wild beast? But as expected, Murdock was nowhere to be found and his ankle monitor laid shattered on the floor in one of his rooms. Despite their better judgment, the cops couldn’t help but feel bad for him; he had just made things so, so exponentially worse. Now a murderer was on the loose, a murderer who happened to be a highly skilled vigilante at that. Now, Matthew Murdock was a wanted man.  
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Every inch of his body groaned with a pain he’d not felt in years, a groan that soon found itself in the material world as Matt let one out as he flopped onto the floor of Foggy Nelson’s, his best friend for as long as he could remember, hospital room. As he laid on the floor, Matt slowly became more and more aware of the world around him, the steady beeps and whirls and whines of hospital machinery reaching his ears. With a loud moan, he took off his helmet and slumped up against the wall.

“Matt…?” Foggy tried to sit up. “God, Matt, what the hell did you do?” His voice was full of a genuine concern. “I heard what happened. You… you killed him. Finally, you killed him.”

“Yes.” Matt groaned.

“Why? Why after all these years… Elektra… Karen… what happened?”

“He threatened my family, Fog. He… he attacked us in our home. Our home, Foggy! I… I… I went to Jack’s room to protect him and Grace… He hurt her.” Matt brought his knees to chest, wincing slightly as he did so, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “God, I let him hurt her.”

“Matt--”

“I should have killed him ages ago!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, no I do, Foggy. You know what I just did? You want to know why I’m covered in blood?”

Foggy’s mind wandered to the most plausible answer. “Please… tell me you didn’t. I know Fisk’s made your life hell, Matt, but that didn’t give you the right to kill him!”

Matt laughed. “You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t kill him, then.”

Foggy breathed a sigh of relief.

“But I would have. God… just knowing that he’s still out there… it drives me crazy. You know I went to kill him so that he couldn’t hurt my family… couldn’t hurt anyone else? I failed. All the people he hurts… all the people he kills… their blood is on my hands.”

“You may tell yourself that, Matt, but that’s not true. You’re hurting, lashing out. You’re at a low right now, bud. Let me help you back up.”

There was a silence for a few seconds between the pair.

“So why did I go to kill him?” Matt began. “I mean, if I’m just hurting and lashing out… why did I kill all those men? Why did I kill Ikari?”

“God, this is… I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I didn’t kill Fisk, Fog, but I sure as hell killed everyone else.” Matt brought his hands to his head. “Oh, my God, I killed those people. Foggy, I killed them!” A look of sorrow and rage came over his face. “Why did I kill them?!"

“I… I don’t…” he was too stunned to speak. 

“Yes you do!” Matt began to cry harder, tears mixing with the dried blood flecked on his face, and stood up. “You know why! Don’t lie to me!”

“Matt, please, take a deep breath. You’re angry--”

“You’re damn right I’m angry! You… you’ve known for years! Hell, you even told me, but I didn’t listen! You said I didn’t do what I did because I wanted to help people, but because I just wanted an excuse to hurt someone! I… you were right. This… this is all just one big excuse. I don’t care about people; I don’t give a shit about them!”

“Stop, please, you’re going to give me--”

“I told myself that I killed Bullseye to save my family, that I was going to kill Fisk so he couldn’t hurt anyone else, that it was all self-help. But that was a load of bullshit! I did it because I wanted to! And I liked it! I like killing people!”

“Matt, I--”

The heart monitor began to beat faster.

“Matt, before I… never mind. You don’t enjoy killing. You’re just telling yourself that to cope with what has happened. Just… just remember, Matt, you need people… to help pick you up when you fall down. I love you, Matt, and tell my family I love them too.”

Flatline.

Matt’s eyes widened. “No, no, Foggy.” He rushed over to his best friend's side and began chest compressions. “I’m so sorry, I forgot about your heart. God, I shouldn't have laid all that on you. Stay with me, bud!” Matt breathed into Foggy’s mouth, resuming compressions. Nothing. Stopping, he put his head against Foggy’s chest. “Not you too…”  
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥  
Manhattan, New York City - One Month Later

Foggy Nelson was dead, and Matthew Murdock, his best friend, killed him. He had been too selfish, too wrapped up in his own grief and misery to remember that his best friend had a heart condition that was constantly on the knife’s edge of killing him. So, as Matt watched Foggy’s funeral from afar, listened to the sorrowful cries of his wife and children, listened to how his death had come on suddenly, naturally, Matt knew it was a lie. Foggy wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for him. Just another body to his growing pile.

While giving his speech, the priest mentioned God. Matt spat at the mention of such an idea. There was no God, no benevolent higher power. If there was, why would a monstrosity like himself exist? A being who enjoyed the taking of another’s life. No, “God” wouldn’t allow a monster like him to walk the Earth. 

And monsters? The thing about them is that they walked alone, there was no one for them to go back to. They were dead to the world, rejected as vile creatures. 

Matthew Murdock was dead, and Daredevil killed him.


End file.
